


A Storm in a Teacup

by AlexBraxton



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged Up, Drugs, Eventual Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post High School, Slow Burn, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger - Freeform, Tweek Tweak/Craig Tucker - Freeform, anxiety mention, creek - Freeform, drug mention, friends to lovers to estranged lovers to friends? to lovers, m/m - Freeform, me scrambling to try to keep everyone in character and probably failing lolllll, mental health, mentions of self harm, we here for some angsty shit sis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-12-27 03:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexBraxton/pseuds/AlexBraxton
Summary: Tweek Tweak disappeared from Craig Tucker's life half way through high school, something was always weird about that kid. Something different, something Craig doesn't think he can live without. Craig reconnects with Tweek only to see things with him have gotten even weirder, and he wants answers.





	1. A Halo Around the Moon

Craig Tucker is an asshole.

From the second he was put into public school, Craig got into fights. Despite his predictable movements and straight face, it was always Craig that threw the first punch. He was a creature of habit, same thing day in and day out is what Craig liked. Good and boring. The second someone disrupted his precious routine is when Craig, for once, became unpredictable. His emotions seeming to flip like a switch, on or off; straight faced or coming at someone like a Goddamn orangutan. Forever black and white, he was the asshole in the blue chullo: Craig Tucker.

By middle school his parents had insisted he start therapy, much to Craig’s chagrin. It was a miracle that he started making real friends, a small group of boys that stuck by his side. A few willing participants to his aggressive behavior, whether it was Token talking him down, Clyde being on the receiving end of it, or Jimmy making him forget all about whatever was pissing him off in the first place. For some reason Craig could never understand they all wanted to be around him. To his own surprise, they had managed to graduate high school without killing each other. Everyone was there and still breathing.

Craig stares at Token’s ceiling from his stupid race car bed. He had made sure to roast him for still having it the moment he walked in, but Craig couldn’t deny it was stupid comfortable. It had been a while since they’d all been together. Hell, it’d been a while since Token been home at all. It was shocking to no one that his rich ass had taken a year off after college to travel around Europe with his family… Fucking rich kids, dude. Craig lolls his head to the side to survey over his friends. Jimmy is on Token’s computer in the corner. Craig is pretty sure he’s leaving stupid comments on people’s photos from Token’s Facebook again. Token and Clyde sit in tall, black and red chairs that really screamed “GAMER” in all the worst possible ways. Mostly in the way that they are stupidly expensive and looked like they were designed by Shadow the Hedgehog. Clyde thrashes every once and a while, clearly getting his ass absolutely decimated by Token in Street Fighter- again.

Craig sits up to blow the smoke off his joint out Token’s window, taking a second to enjoy the cold air in his face. It had snowed a bit since he showed up- but not much. There’s a feeling in his bones that more was coming. It always did, good predictable snowfall. His moment of peace is broken by a particularly hard stomp coming from Clyde’s direction, causing Craig to look over his shoulder instinctually. He never saw these fucks anymore, between school, being out of the stupid country, work, general adult bullshit… Craig had to be dragged here, but it reminded him of back when they did this every Friday after school.

“Okay, so BASICALLY, you’re cheating.” Clyde says, choosing Chun Lee again.

“How? How can I possibly be cheating?” Token questions, offended enough to not choose a character right away.

“You own the game! So you play like, all the time and-“

“A-and Clyde is a baby back b-b-bitch.” Jimmy chimes in, earning a grunt from Clyde. 

Craig smirks a bit, relieved that after all the time that had passed their dynamic never seems to change. He had worried before that it would take a while to fall back into their usual banter, but in this moment it flowed naturally like they were never apart. Craig saw them still, here and there, but that was different. 

Craig stretches and his back pops, then rocks himself from the bed to his feet. The room shifts in his vision a bit, but nothing more than he could handle. As much as he wants to, he knows he can’t sit around and smoke in Token’s room until he can’t move his legs. He has to turn an assignment in tonight: in other words, send an email from his laptop before the midnight deadline.

“Aight, I’m out.” Craig announces, picking his thick black jacket off the floor by Token’s bed.

“Dude, what?! C’mon, you’re gonna kill the mood.” Clyde complains, turning from the screen to Craig. This gives Token the opportunity to completely beat Clyde’s avatar into the dirt virtually.

“Do you need a ride? It’s pretty cold out.” Token offers, ignoring Clyde’s plea.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I should move around so I don’t get a blood clot or something.” Craig mumbles, pushing his feet into his sneakers. Admittedly, they’re pretty fucking sick. Too sick to walk through snow, but whatever.

“Y-you’ll lose a n-n-nu-ball out there, Craig.” Jimmy warns, giving Craig a lazy wave, knowing that wouldn’t stop Craig.

“Dude, no! Stay! The party is just getting started!” Clyde continues, but Craig can’t hear him too well since he’s already mostly down the hallway. Clyde must be using this “party” to avoid doing homework, otherwise he wouldn’t be acting so pathetic about this.

The cold hits Craig like a wall, he stands for a moment, enjoying the cold nipping at his limbs. Loose and numb from all the weed, the chill brings him back to Earth. He wills himself forward, noting that a lot of the snow from yesterday was melted. Cool. The puddles would soak through his new fucking sneakers if it wasn’t already ice. Why was he wearing these? The fresh snow falling now was barely visible in the dark that hung over South Park. How much time had passed? Craig was at Token’s a bit longer than he thought. He pockets his blue chullo so he can hang his head back without fear of losing it, walking forward with his eyes toward the stars. Street lights break his view every so often to blind him for a moment. He knows he probably looks weird, but figures no one would be out to judge right now anyway.

Space is so cool, it just goes and goes. It doesn’t care about Craig looking like the resident dipshit with his head craned back not looking where he’s going. Deep inky black, broken by stars. Planets sitting empty and filled with storms or poison. Craig was obsessed. Space made sense, chemical reactions leading one event to the next. It’s unpredictable and wild, but Craig likes it that way. He used to imagine being sucked up into it, drifting through the vacuous void.

_clang_

Craig is ripped from his mental galactic journey by his stupid legs leading him directly into a metal garbage can that was waiting peacefully along the sidewalk. He kicks it hard away from him, and it rolls closer to the movie theater coming up ahead. Craig follows the can, beginning to lose himself to the nostalgia of seeing his old friends again. Looking out at the street in front of the theater, he remembers when they would come as kids and beat the shit out of each other for fun. Looking back, someone really should’ve been babysitting them or something. He follows the road slowly, walking by Tweak Bros soon after. The building is dark but Craig can still smell the coffee like it had stained the air around it.

Pausing the trek home, Craig tries to lean in to see through the darkness but is only met with his own reflection. Black hair, cool, big stupid nose, long horse face. He releases a huff into the cold and watches as his face disappears in the fog against the glass. Quickly, he runs a freezing hand over his face in an attempt to warm his long nose back up. He hasn’t been in that building since… He squeezes his eyes tight for a moment. The thought is intrusive and Craig wants to push it away fast, but he remembers that stupid therapist. _“Just let the thoughts happen, then recover, Craig.”_ So he does. It was so long ago, like so long ago, maybe like 6th grade long ago.

_‘We should break up, Tweek’_

Then it rolls over Craig fast; the blond wild hair being pulled by band-aid covered fingers, the tears, he runs away- then the guilt. A heavy invisible weight crushes his ribs, Craig spits hard onto the cement like he can eject the feeling out of him somehow. His lungs burn as he pulls in a slow, even breath, and releases it. He opens his eyes again to turn on his heel and continue home. What ever happened to that kid?

God, why is he acting like he doesn’t know his name? Tweek. Tweek Tweak. Tweek with the coffee shop, Tweek who got scared of gnomes, Tweek with dumb freckles, Tweek with the impossibly green eyes, Tweek who held Craig’s hand every day through elementary school, _that_ Tweek. Craig shakes his head for a moment, and in one motion pulls his chullo back out and shoves it back over his head. Craig is just stoned, that’s why his brain is digging up ancient history.

Whatever happened with him? Craig squints to remember, stopping for a moment to let the buzz from the light above the bus stop pull the memory to him. Tweek stopped coming to school around Sophomore year, he thinks it was around then. The stress load from helping with the coffee shop and attending school was too much for Tweek, so his parents let him start online school. And the rest is history. Craig carries himself home a little faster, his nose starting to burn in the freezing wind. He notes the darkness of his surroundings again, how late was it? He never checked, would Tweek be awake right now? His heart beats a little harder, sending the first text isn’t like Craig. Maybe it’s the nostalgia, maybe it’s the weed, but Craig is ready to test his luck tonight. A simple text, _‘Hey.’_ Short, to the point, punctuated. The perfect message.

He wonders if it’s even the right number at this point, it really had been a while since they spoke. Tweek is like a ghost in Craig’s life now, and when he saw him around town it was fleeting and short. Soon he became another face Craig didn’t notice, another person Craig could walk right by and completely miss. His parents always told him his lack of awareness for people around him would get him murdered eventually, but it was probably fine. They said a lot of things anyway, _‘don’t flip off your principal, Craig!’_ or _‘Stop breaking kids’ noses, Craig!’_, so picky and demanding.

A large gust of wind kicks up, almost pushing Craig back. When did the snow get this heavy? Finally, his house is within sight and Craig breaks into a light jog, hand shielding his eyes from the snow plummeting in heavy sheets sideways from the sky. He must have been lost pretty deep in his thoughts to have not noticed the blizzard building around him as he walked. Craig all but throws himself inside when he reaches the door, sighing with relief at the warmth. Shoes and jacket ditched by the door, he makes sure to flip his sister off as he walks by the couch she’s lounging on. A conversation can be heard in the kitchen, his mom and dad, which is que for him to avoid it. The dining table is where they discussed bills, bringing a heavy atmosphere that radiates through the house. It made Craig feel like a burden, which he is in a lot of ways. Sure, a lot of kids his age were also still living with their parents, but there’s always a deeper guilt buried within him for not having the immediate means to pack up and move out the day he turned 18. Instead, Craig draws his eyes to the carpet and moves himself upstairs, locking the door to his room behind him.

Craig flops on his bed beside his laptop, Stripe squeaking a welcome to him from his cage as he does.

“Hey, man.” Craig mumbles at his guinea pig, opening his laptop to turn in his homework when he always did: right before it was too late. Well, it was about to be a hell of a lot later now, seeing as Craig has no wifi. He turns to frown out the window at the raging storm, the wind seemingly not willing to choose a direction. Stupid blizzard knocked the wifi out, how does that even happen? Craig is sure his sister or parents have already tried to restore it, and if they weren’t able to figure it out yet he doubts he could either. Homework abandoned, Craig sits up and unlocks his phone, greeted by a middle finger emoji from his sister before opening the group chat. At least his phone still had a signal, even if the wifi was out.

_ **GROUP CHAT: TEAM SMEGMA** _

_Craig: Who’s got wifi?_

_Token: Well i do but you already left me at the altar here_

_Clyde: uu leftt me when i needeed you most u think u wcan,, just .come back to my cbestfriedns housse and mooch his stuff? I was hving a PANICkk aattak not likke u caare or anything ima just blocking yo;;u u have ppisssed me off for th.e lasttiimm justte ur so ignfoured u will be so so sorrY onee day hat prride of yours u think u;u k.now everhyting qbut u dont know shiT… nowo im just l;itraly shhakingg this is s loike. u to like dare to stick uur nos e back in mY,, f cking llife an dim just so tierrd of giving you chaa,,nces too whenn i kno ..itSd go.nnna be the asme everrytim just eyou walk al lover me and myfr,,iends_

_Token: You think I’M your best friend, that’s so depressing._

_Jimmy: We out here cry-typing past 2012 huh..._

_Craig: I get it, you cried when I left. _

Craig rolls his eyes and gives a sideways look to Stripe as if the guinea pig had the capacity to know exactly what Craig was thinking; like Stripe was the camera in The Office of Craig’s life. He looks back down to type again, and spots the familiar “...” by Clyde’s name that indicated his friend is already doing the same.

_Craig: So can I use your wifi or what?_

_Token: Sure, come on over! :-)_

_Jimmy: A nosed smiley face? You people type like wild animals._

_Craig: Come pick me up._

_Token: No way! The snow is too brutal, walk for wifi._

_Craig: Never mind, whore. _

Craig drags himself out of bed to hit his lights and ditch his jeans, fixing himself under his sheets. From here, he can comfortably stare at the glow in the dark stickers that scattered across his ceiling, placed there by his father long before Craig could reach that high. He smiles a bit, remembering his mom thinking they were tacky. However, from what his very few visitors have said, they’re the most interesting thing in Craig’s room- so she’s wrong. A soft buzz emanates from his phone, oh god. Given how long Clyde’s typing had gone on, Craig thinks he knows exactly what to expect.

_Clyde: oh and u thiink you can makke token just share his stuff with uu beccause you have aa` sistre huh???noot eveeryone ,wants to fuckiing, lE,t uw u se thei;;r stuff yo,,u kkno,w the wworld doesnt reevoollve around you shouldknto u know that SPace boyy??? You mAke me fucking sick and itss reall.y fucekd up oof you to juust abandoned ppeople like that espeeciallyy, when you know what i went through withh my mom yyeah thats right yoou bbrrouught em ba,ck;; tto thatt placce in my life….. An..d the fuaked uup thiing is..s i know ur not even so sorry abot it because you liiterrally never pputt your e self into someone elses shoes ;itts all aboutu 10,0% of thet im juste and honestly i tthink yoourre a soc;;ciopath dude and im just fucking shakking hTat you daredto mEssage mme and my friends afggter you just sttormed off. like tthat like wht if you hurrt one of us how caan i trust ,you u hhave ,no respect for any,on,,e esles boundariess and. ive triedd so hard to maake my nneeds kn,own bbc yoou .. knoow wha,,t relattionshups take? Communiiccation aand all of us have tr,,ied gain a,nd aggainn to reach ouott and tell yoo,u. BBut you fucking suck at co;mmunicating you just got up ann dleeft like how am i suppoesd totake thhat aannd nnow i,,m just ,,panicking again bc ho;;w am i supposed to undreesstandd i am human and i have emotions. _

“The conclusion is always my favorite part..” Craig mumbles to himself, waiting for Clyde’s next predictable move. It doesn’t take long for the next flurry of messages to start pinging.

__Clyde: Im so sorry i said those things  
Clyde: it was so hurtful  
Clyde: i never want to cause you pain  
Clyde: please respond  
Clyde: pslf repsond  
Clyde: please repsond!!!!!! 

_Craig: Response._

_Clyde: YOURE A DICK!!!!!! _

Craig smiles, officially locking his phone for the night. Clyde was the same as ever, immediately crying and throwing buzz words around to get his way, but they’re all used to his outbursts by now. Craig closes his eyes, picturing Token and Jimmy ignoring Clyde’s wallowing until he gets over it. With facetimes already incoming, Craig decides he will do the exact same and switches his phone to AirPlane Mode (his all time favorite) before pushing it to his nightstand on it’s charger. Moments later, he falls asleep to the rattle of his window pane in the wind.

——-  
Craig does what he does every morning. He groans at the same volume he always does when his alarm sounds. It takes five seconds of staring at the faded star stickers before he forces himself up. A hand is already up his shirt and scratching his chest as he lets out a loud yawn. The bedroom door swings open, and he shoves Tricia out of his way with a hand to her forehead to claim first stake on the bathroom. He doesn’t look forward to the day she gets tall enough that he can’t do that morning ritual.

The routine continues: shower, glare at himself in the mirror for a minute, spend about 15 minutes deciding which t-shirt to wear and end up picking one up from the floor, eat Tricia’s second poptart, wave at mom, catch the bus.

Good and boring, just how Craig likes it. Step by step, he always knew exactly what would happen and who would be there. He rests his head against the bus window, the exact seat he sat in every day. The ride is bumpy and knocks his skull against the glass, but that never stops him from spitefully finding comfort in the vibrations that echo in his skull. He scrolls through his apps ritualistically for the 10 minute duration before his stop. According to the group chat, Clyde was in fact avoiding studying for a test he had today. Craig considers telling him how stupid he was until he spots that Jimmy beat him to the punch.

The only backfire to living as Craig preferred to is the fog. He was told by Clyde and Jimmy his community college was one of the most over crowded, but Craig never registered the sheer size. It was all just a crowd of faceless people he didn’t care about. Occasionally, he would be shoulder checked by someone taller than him, which was rare, but he really couldn’t bring himself to give much of a shit about it. He couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about much of anything, especially school. He was only here because his parents told him too, but it just made him feel like more of a financial burden on them.

In class, he flicks his pen back and forth with his fingers, tapping against his book pages. It was drowning out whatever the professor is going on about. He never listens, Craig knows he isn’t smart enough to be an astronaut or something, but enough classes about space will probably land him next to a telescope somewhere, he figures. Maybe eventually take some of the pressure off his parents? Doubtful, but it’s a reason to attend. Plus, he really just has to remember some text from his books half the time anyway. School is a time-suck, but it’s easy, the same as always.

Craig moves through the fog of people, sitting at a table by the window to do his last minute homework. Numbers, shapes, he didn’t understand why people were always so dramatic about this shit. Or why Token’s parents were sending him to do this same shit at some fancy big boy college. Whatever. Craig flicks his pen again. He only became a problem child- or “asshole” as it’s more commonly called, when his routine was fucked. Each disturbance overwhelmed him, his heart rate would spike, his hands shook, his stomach sent bile twisting up his throat; to put it shortly, he panicked. He hated the feeling, wanting to fuck up whoever fucked his day up, but with time he got slightly better at handling it.

Transitioning to adult life was difficult, there were a few more holes in his bedroom wall than he wanted to admit. He slams his book shut to stop himself from remembering all the time he spent curled in bed freaking out. No one would ever know that Craig Tucker, _Craig Tucker_ was anything but an asshole. And y’know what? He’s so totally fuckin’ cool with that, dude. He throws his homework haphazardly into his backpack, it was blue and therefore very cool. Bus time, baby.

Craig makes his way out of the school, barely remembering ever going in. It was like the whole day was some lightheaded day dream, but that was fairly normal for the days to bleed together like this. Everything perfectly routine, everything perfectly the same. Such a routine with little to no change didn’t help with the fog that never seemed to lift from South Park- both figuratively and seemingly literally today. His long legs automatically carry him to the bus stop, only to stop cold. The bus began to pull away and Craig felt his heart fall, too far back to catch it now. The entire rest of the day is going to be 10 minutes off now, fucking great. Craig Tucker doesn’t miss the bus, he catches it at the last minute _every day_. Craig clenches his jaw tightly and leans against the metal frame of the bus stop to check his phone, but the name on it sent his tight jaw slack.

** _1 message from Tweek_ ** __

_“Hello Craig, I hope you are well. It has been a while since I spoke with you, has it not? I have been fine, I will spare you the details for the sake of brevity. I hope to hear from you soon,  
Sincerely, Tweek Tweak.” _

He’s feeling more emotional today than he is used too, and slowly his hand finds it’s way over his chest to feel his heart- just in case it exploded. God, Tweek probably spent all day constructing that message. He sounds like such a douche bag, Craig almost smiles. He hates every second of it.

_Craig: What the fuck._

_Tweek: I wanted it to sound good!!!!!!!_

_Craig: It sounds bad, why did you sign off with your name like a 50 year old man._

_Tweek: i dunno!!! It osunded formal and like mature_

_Craig: You did bad. _

The bus is long gone by now, right? Craig looks up from his phone and surveyed the sky, suddenly clear and blue. The cold still burns Craig’s cheeks, but he could walk somewhere. His gut twists slightly at the thought of straying away from his usual pattern, but the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the thought of maybe meeting up with Tweek made it tempting. Somehow that kid always manages to come around right when Craig thinks of him; despite Craig being the first to reach out in this case.

_Craig: Come hangout. I’m in town._

_Tweek: oh uh……_

_Tweek: inguess i could its been so lohg craig_

_Craig: I know._

_Tweek: im bysy i ahve a life you know_

_Craig: I’ll be at the bus stop by the Starbucks then, if you happen to be there that would be cool. _

Craig locks his phone, turning and heading up the road. Tweek is the exact same. It’s another needless interruption to his day, but for some reason knowing there’s a .1% chance of Tweek being there… He doesn’t feel angry. Okay, actually he is still pretty pissed off, but less pissed off than he expected to be. He suddenly feels very aware of his appearance, checking his face in his phone’s camera as he walks. Tired, long face, big nose- fuck. God, is his face like this all the time? Fucking- the wind is making his cheeks all red! Well, Tweek knows he can’t fix ugly, right? Why does Craig care anyway? His gut twists again and Craig chews his lip.

Craig stands as casually as possible, a very calculated stance, actually. Feet not too far apart but not too close, hands in his pockets only to be removed to check his phone, staring straight ahead when he wasn’t. Unapproachable bitch face on, he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone.  
Oh, wait. Shit. He wants Tweek to bother him, right? Goddammit, he never really thought about how to stand and seem friendly. Or smile, really.

Craig ground his teeth a bit. It’s not like Tweek was coming anyway… right?

“Craig, hey! Hello! Hnngk-“

His head whips to the left, almost smacking into the side of the bus stop. His strange yet familiar voice sends a warm feeling up Craig’s chest into his throat, his heart pounding heavy- but the sight of him, coming closer… The sun made the wild blond hair on top of his head glow, a halo over a pale face. There is a cast of freckles framing his eyes over his straight nose, making his almond eyes seem greener. His jaw is square and sharp, softened by the small smile on his lips. His frame was hidden in a large, olive green jacket but Craig can see his thin legs well in the black jeans.

Craig is pretty certain his heart stopped, the closer Tweek got the more he appreciates every new detail. His hair is pinned with a few bobby pins, Craig is sure that Tweek thought the “blond” colored ones were harder to see. It still bounces with each step he takes, still a little long and whipping this way and that in the wind. The green jacket looks heavy and is zipped a little too high, hiding Tweek’s chin. But his eyes- his stupid fucking eyes, dude. His irises seem huge, giant, green and were pulling Craig in- oh fuck how long has he been talking?

“HNG- Hello?? Earth to Spaceman Craig?” Tweek says, within range to not be yelling but not nearly close enough.

“I’ve been yelling at you for like,” Tweek twitches, his head knocking to the left slightly. Craig does it, he smiles- but just for a second. “I’ve been yelling at you for like- gah- two minutes!” Tweek was taller… once he’s closer, Craig will have to survey just how tall-

“Oh, sweet fucking _christ.._” Craig blurts, yanking his eyes off Tweek for a moment. The clouds loom behind Tweek, thick and dark in the sky. He can already smell the heavy rain coming, of course! Of FUCKING course! Today sucks, today officially fucking blows. Before Craig could move closer, he braces as a particularly strong wind hit him hard, knocking his back against the metal pole of the bus stop. Quickly he gets himself together, ignoring the numb pain up his spine, and pushes toward Tweek. He doesn’t have time to talk, let alone think, before he grabs Tweek’s wrist. It’s cold in his grip, and he yanks the boy along with him inside the Starbucks.

Craig catches his breath for a moment before turning to Tweek, his eyes big in surprise. He could almost see Tweek’s heart beating out of his chest, rapid and scared like a frightened Stripe. Craig probably could’ve been smoother with that, he isn’t exactly sure why his first reaction was to pull them into a Starbucks and immediately violate Tweek’s personal space. Oh wait! Yes he did! He’s a fucking idiot, that’s why!

“Damn, dude-“ Tweek huffs, running his hand through his hair a moment. “That shit really- hhnk, really came out of nowhere I-“ Tweek is tall now, almost as tall as Craig. He probably came up to Craig’s chin, impressive. Oh fuck, he’s still talking.

“An-Anyway I’m glad you don’t hate me.” Tweek smiles, looking up at him.

Craig stares blankly back. “Hey.” 

Stupid, fuck he can’t get his mouth to move. It’s all he could muster up, not that he’s ever been good at talking or anything. He swallows hard, hoping Tweek would help him like he used to. Just talk. Please say anything. His stomach clenches, his chest feels heavy, his heart won't slow down. He tries his best not to sway on his feet, stumbling only a bit when the windows begin to shake around them. Craig turns to look outside as the rain hammers against the cement in loud heavy sheets and a crack of lightning stretches across the sky. Craig inhales and turns back toward Tweek, but all he could see was a blur.

Tweek’s eyes are still big when he dips out the door, feeling like it was in slow motion. The gasp, the solid 6 seconds of eye contact after Craig’s stupid ‘Hey’, the lightning, then the door was open and Tweek was gone. 

Craig shoves through the door soon after, quickly drenched by the downpour after only a few seconds. Tweek is gone. Craig is alone, in the rain, by some stupid shitty Starbucks. But his bus is there. Craig boards, sitting with his clothes heavy and biting against his skin. Glaring hard out the window at his own reflection, he wishes his stupid face would get out of the way so he could try to see if Tweek is somewhere in the rain. 

Tweek is a ghost in Craig’s life, he disappeared just when Craig had him in his sights. The phantom of his wrist in Craig’s hand remains through the cold, his voice ringing in his ears over the howl of the wind. But he is gone, again. Craig feels like he is going to implode somehow, like all his organs are crumpling up inside his abdomen and soon they would be puked up all over the floor of this South Park bus. The whole day had been a whiplash, so far from his normal routine. 

His emotions are stirred, his head swimming and going over the interaction obsessively. He hits his head hard against the window as punishment for being so embarrassing- thank god the bus was empty. Some part of him revels in the feeling though, the ups and downs Craig normally hated. Maybe he just likes the ups, actually. The highs he feels around Tweek. He wants those back, he wants to know if Tweek has those too.

Fuck it,  
Craig wants answers.


	2. The Moon Gives Light but no Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek is embarassing and he knows it

Tweek Tweak is a fucking freak.  
God, it even rhymes.

For a long time, he thought the family coffee shop was named after him. Tweek Bros. Coffee, but the reality was Tweek was named after the coffee shop. Tweek always came second to his parents, the business came first. They kept Tweek busy, sometimes too busy to make friends. The drug rehabilitation he had to go through after it finally came out what was _actually_ in the coffee didn’t help Tweek’s reputation. Twitchy, weird Tweek who never held still. Annoying noises between his every word, rambling paranoias spilling out of him constantly. His social life barely had a pulse, leaving only his parents or the air to listen. He couldn’t even make it all the way through public High School, it was all too much. Once puberty started hitting him his emotions took complete control. The hair pulling, skin chewing, ticking, screaming became all Tweek was to everyone around him. The local freakshow: Tweek Tweak.

Tweek is running full speed through the rain, his sneakers hit the pavement hard but their sound is lost in the roaring downpour over him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running, but the stinging that bit at his lungs as they continued pushing clouds of visible breath told him its been far too long. The rain sloshes around his socks through his shoes but he doesn’t stop. Bobbing and weaving between people on the sidewalk, he keeps pushing until Tweek sees his mother’s deep green compact through the wall of water. Just got to cross the street and he’s home free! Tweek starts mashing the button for the crosswalk, pounding his numb fist into the button over and over.

The whirr and squeak of the bus approaching catches Tweek’s attention, it’s headlights cutting through the rain like beacons. Tweek bounces on his toes to try and forget the pain in his calves from the dead sprint. Somewhere in his gut there’s a steady bubbling, a warning that he's on the verge of puking all over the place. His heart pounds hard as he noticed the blue hat in the window, that stupid chullo. Ok he might actually barf for real- oh God! Help! 

Apparently, someone hears Tweek’s small prayer and the symbol on the crosswalk blinks to life, indicating that it’s now safe to cross. Not about to let this go to waste, Tweek sprints across the street, scaring his mother about out of her skin as he slams himself against the car door, heaving.

“Tweek? Honey, it’s raining so hard are you alright? Did you run here? Was your friend there?” His mom starts firing questions, popping open the car door. The car responds with quiet warning pings as Tweek falls inside with a grunt. Tweek’s eyes shut, focusing on evening his breath after that out of character physical exertion. Mrs. Tweak sighs and runs a hand over her son’s forehead softly to unstick a few strands. Gently, she turns her hand over and rests it against his forehead, pausing a moment to feel the heat that radiated from Tweeks skin.

“I think we should head home, huh?” His mom coos, moving her hand to pet through Tweek’s wet hair. Fixing his hair pins to be less noticeable for him, she lets out a gasp when Tweek throws the door back open to vomit onto the street outside. Hard shivers wrack through him while his entire body clenches to purge onto the ground outside.

“Maybe some cardio would do you good, Tweety-bird.” Tweek barely hears her over his hacking. Spitting one final time before he shut the door, he gives his mom a weak smile. The nickname used to embarrass him half to death, but now it feels comforting. It makes him feel like a little kid again, like all his problems were small and so was he.

“Yeah, I saw cr- hnngk, my friend. Can we go home? We d-did everything Dad wanted right?” He croaks through the bitter taste on his tongue, fumbling with the seat belt for a second before it finally clicks in. 

Mom hums in agreement and Tweek knows she has more questions for him but didn’t want to push the matter. She was always good like that, sometimes it felt like she was the only one on Tweek’s side. The car ride is quiet, the gentle jazzy music his mom likes playing low as the downpour outside began to lighten up a bit, just a bit. He feels the shaking slowly leave his body while he watches buildings pass through the window, his stomach settling with the warmth of the car’s heating system on full blast. The drive is disappointingly short, the car already rolling up the driveway. It’s difficult to rip himself from the warmth of the car to help his mom load the few bags they were sent out of South Park to get, but he does it regardless. Since they had stopped putting… er, what they _did_ in the coffee, they started buying expensive, imported coffee beans in hopes it would still get the job done. Tweek sighs while he put them into the wooden transport box they take to the shop, trying to push back memories of how complicated things got with the cops back then.

“Tweety-bird, go brush your teeth.” Tweek’s mom’s face pulls into a grimace as she scoots by him to add another bag to the shop-box, waving her hand back and forth in front of her nose dramatically. His cheeks flood with heat as Tweek turns away in the hopes of shielding his mother from any further barf-stink. God! He can’t believe he really barfed all over the road. Well, at least Tweek isn’t hungry anymore that’s a plus, sort of? Positive, just stay positive, Tweek. Jesus, ok maybe it’s not positive! He feels like a bag of smashed assholes! 

He removes his shoes by the front door with a kick, ratty old red sneakers he’s had since Freshman year. He frowns down at them a bit as he began to register just how much water had soaked into his socks. As his senses came back to him fully, Tweek notices the taste of bile still lingering in his mouth. He smacks his tongue against his palate and frowns even harder at the bitterness. Finally, he makes his way forward to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Teeth clean once more and breath cold with mint, Tweek access himself in the mirror. He seems worse for wear after his minor freakout, the rain and sweat slicked hair still clinging to his forehead. A shower is probably for the best as well since he’s already here.

The hot water scalds his chilled skin for a moment, beaten raw from the rain, but Tweek doesn’t mind. It’s almost a welcome feeling, the burn stirring his mind and waking it up from the fog of exhaustion. Tweek enjoys the shower probably more than he should, the steady warmth over him, patterned sounds of the water against the tiles, the moment of total privacy. Really, it was an easy spot to meditate and go over his day without feeling overwhelmed or reenact arguments he had earlier, only this time he was winning and super witty and cool. Tweek starts to roll the bar soap in his hand, the weird minty kind his mom always bought for him. Letting it coat his digits in lather, he pauses to appreciate the calm of the moment before actually scrubbing away at himself.

Cleaned, tweak steps out from the slick tub and grabs the closest towel hanging on the nearby rack. The bathroom is coated in a thick steam, he had forgotten to turn on the ventilation fan before washing again. Tweek lifts a hand to palm steam off the mirror to see himself so he can rough his hair up properly with a towel. Watching himself feels strange. Looking at himself so directly ever felt a little weird, honestly, but he’s gotten better. Square jaw that made his head appear a little bottom-heavy, his nose looking a little small on his face to him, freckles speckled all over his mug. Tweek figures he looks pretty forgettable, which is good if one doesn’t like to be looked at. Tweek’s hand freezes, towel pressing gently into the cheek it was scrubbing moments ago. His mind drifts, falling on the way Craig looked at him earlier… 

Craig.

Tweek’s chest feels like it’s collapsing, a throb of hurt moving through his body from his ribs. God, he probably thinks Tweek is a freak! Running up to him with those dumb hair pins Tweek forgot about, he would’ve changed out of his dad’s old jacket if Craig didn’t prompt this hang out so suddenly, plus that text last night?! What was all this, anyway? God, he was probably fucking with him. That’s so like him, reaching out suddenly with no warning just to pull a prank. He’s such a fucking dick! Jesus… he looked amazing though. Tweek continues to scrub his face with his towel before wrapping it around himself and making a mad dash to his bedroom. When’s the last time he had Craig over? How long has it been since he saw Craig’s room? It probably still has those glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.

Craig was the moon that hung over Tweek, it was constant and steady. He was cold but bright, able to pull the tides inside Tweek without even saying anything. Which was a good and bad thing, sometimes he kept them even but other times he was able to overwhelm Tweek. His silence and unreadable face could be frustrating, unbearable even but Tweek knew Craig’s mind was busy. Too busy to talk sometimes, or at least it was when Tweek knew him.

He shuts the bedroom door behind him with a ‘click’, Tweek looks to his closet that mostly spilled clothes onto the floor. The poor wooden doors didn’t stand a chance against Tweek’s mess. Getting dressed as fast as possible was usually how Tweek operated, this time the result is a loose fitting mustard sweater over a pair of mocha brown dress pants that were too short for him now. Showing off his ankles felt weird, but he also doesn’t have the energy to try again. Not looking the worst he ever has, if he’s being honest. Tweek still has so much to do, take those fresh beans to the shop, grind said beans, work with Dad until close… If he’s still functioning by the time he gets home he would look at some colleges online, maybe? Swallowing back a wave of nervousness, Tweek forces himself back downstairs. He hates thinking about college, it makes his hands shake and his mind race- more than usual. What if he goes and he can’t learn anything? What if it’s just a money sink? What if he gets a useless degree and wasted his parents money? What if they need him at the shop and don’t tell him so he can further his education and the store goes under and they have no way to support themselves and then rely on Tweek and-

His legs freeze and Tweek sucks in a slow breath. Holding the breath in his tight chest, he counts to 6 then slowly releases it for 8. Hands still shaking a bit, he takes a few more breaths until he feels the static clearing. It’s fine, he’s going to be alright. Life is complicated and scary, but Tweek didn’t need to cower in it’s wake all the time. It’s fine to be scared, he knows that… He just needs to learn to be patient with himself, that’s what his mom, his therapist, everybody said. But how is he supposed to when he has so much to do?!

“Tweety-bird? Are you alright up there?” His mom’s voice cut through the noise, Tweek must have been standing in the hall huffing and puffing with his eyes closed for longer than it felt like he was. Mrs. Tweak leans around the wall and stares up at him from the bottom of the stairs. His face pulls a smile, giving his mom an awkward stiff wave.

“I-I’m- gnnk-” Tweek’s head knocks to the right a bit and his mom’s cheeks puff in response, identifying his nervousness. “I’m fine! Don’t w-worry about it.” He finished, avoiding eye contact while he moves down the stairs.

Inspecting his fingers, Tweek finds a piece of stray skin by his nail he chewed at. Ignoring the feeling of his mom’s eyes inspecting him while he tore the skin, blood bubbles up in a small bead perched on his finger. Tweak pops it into his mouth as he slides past her, back to the kitchen to load the shop-box up into the car.

“Finger chewing is a nasty habit, Tweek.” Mrs. Tweak sang at him. He knew she was right, but his mangled fingernails were the least of his concerns right now. Plus, she’s been saying that since he was like, five- and his fingers never fell off like Dad said they would anyway! It’s not even physically possible! God- he is going to miss his shift if they kept fucking around, Tweek’s mind screams while he hoists the box up. Fuck, this thing is always heavier than it looks. Bags of new coffee beans, bottles of syrups clanging together as he jostled the box. Another shift waiting for him at the shop, unfortunately. Actually it isn’t that bad, he likes coffee now; smells nice, everyone seems to be in a better mood after a cup, the whipped cream is his favorite part to add. A light, sweet cloud he got to put over the ceramic cups. Smiling while pushing his feet into his dad’s hard bottom slippers, today might be good if no one yells at him.

\---

The shop is bustling when Mrs. Tweak and Tweek arrive, fuck. Tweek is unable to stop bouncing his knee seeing how many cars were pulled in already. Dad is gonna be pissed he took so long! Wasting no time, Tweek in a practiced motion is already out of the car carrying the box inside. Entering the store backwards to push the doors with his back, Tweek notices a line of about 7 people waiting inside. Tweek tries to flash his Dad a smile over their heads, to send a silent apology for his tardiness, but Mr. Tweak is busy taking an order with his horrible customer service voice on. The one where he babbles in a calming tone, dragging on and on about the “Sunset Blend”. Jesus Christ, that’s probably why the line is so fucking long! Tweek fought rolling his eyes as he shoves himself into the back room, dropping the box to throw an apron on and get his ass out there.

Tweek’s movements are that of a professional, pumps into the bottom of cups, whip-cream topped, moving beans from grinder; before he can register his tired state the line is gone. His words rehearsed _‘What can I get you?’ ‘Vanilla latte for Karen’ ‘No, we don’t put that in the coffee anymore. If you stay, I have to report this to the police’_ The usual garbage. Tweek allows himself a small bit of pity for their former loyal customer base, sluggish and irritated as they escape the cold for sanctuary in the cafe. He fights back memories of his own symptoms, turning them away with his heart heavy in his chest everytime. Watching them head back into the elements to the gentle jazz music playing quiet behind it felt like an over dramatic movie scene. How many lives were ruined by Richard Tweak, how many of them would lead normal lives if not for the bullshit excuse for a ‘Family Recipe’ they had? His certainly was more complicated, thanks to Dad.

If he keeps having to turn people away, they’ll surely go out of business. Tweek will be left on the street, no worse, he’ll end up in some shack cooking meth! Oh God, does Kenny’s family still sell that weird cat piss in vials? He could probably get in on that, possibly- wait no! He’ll just get caught and go to jail, Tweek can’t lie to cops, he can’t even lie to his parents! He rattles like a bottle of pills just trying to piece together a plan for a lie, let alone actually telling one! He’d never survive in jail! The chime of the front doors yanks Tweek back to Earth. Letting go of his hair he didn’t realise he had been gripping, he waves to Ms. Cartman. Man, she really grey’d early in her years; the consequence of mothering Eric, Tweek figures.

Working there kinda sucks, a lot, but it’s a nice escape sometimes. His hands were kept so busy he couldn’t dwell on busy thoughts, Tweek begins to wipe the counter down. Looking outside finally, the storm seems to have passed as quickly as it came. Guilt sinks through his chest thinking about Craig standing out in it, watching Tweek sprint down the road for seemingly no reason. Confused probably, maybe a little hurt? If Craig is capable of feeling that at all. Fuck! Why did Craig have to be the most interesting event of Tweek’s week right now? What else has he done… He dropped one of the shop-boxes on his foot the other day. Ugh! Just stop thinking! 

Twisting the towel between his hands, he takes a moment before pushing it back against the counter and scrubbing harder. The store is dark now and his dad is across the store running the machine that polishes the tiles up and down the length of the cafe. It’s steady buzzing and Tweek’s occasional bark are the only things breaking the stillness. Since Tweek had been late, he’s getting the cold shoulder, typical behavior from Mr. Tweak. The air between them feels stiff, he’s probably just really focused on a stain or something. Plus, Tweek is too tired to make much conversation so maybe Dad feels the same? He can hope.

Store locked, the drive home is tense. The tone thick around them, Tweek stares out the window and gnaws his nails. Knowing what’s coming is the worst part, he knows his dad saw all he had done today, on top of his tardiness. He tries to focus on his breathing when he sees the trees blow about a bit more aggressively as they pass. God! Why can’t mom just drive him home?!

“Guess we need to up your dosage, huh, Tweek?” Mr. Tweak finally speaks, his voice is a sharp cut through the atmosphere they built. The opposite of the velvety voice he spun tales to customers with, this one is real and honest.

“N-No sir, I just got hhhngk- I got worked up while I was sh-shopping.”

“Two days in a row, Tweek. We need to control this, are you doing your breathing?”

“Y-Yes! Every time, I promise.” Tweek fights to keep his voice calm, he wants to scream at his dad to just believe him instead of just doping him up some more. Not like that would fix anything, Tweek could writhe and flop about like a fish all he wanted and his parents never waver their position. He could beg, scream, panic, he’s tried it all to no avail. It’s easier to just agree, roll over to their wishes for now- not that Tweek has a plan for what comes next at all.

The silence resumes, by the time they’re home Tweek feels like he’s been in the car for an eternity. No radio, just the sound of Tweek trying to keep his breaths even through the crushing weight of his dad’s presence. Everywhere Mr. Tweak seems to go these days he brought an unwieldy gravity in the air around him, unless he was at the coffee shop lying to a customer. Maybe it’s just Tweek, he always over thinks things but... 

Rooms are cold and quiet around Richard Tweak. Tweek could never truly relax when he knew he was home lurking somewhere. The house seemed to hum around Tweek when his father was home, stirring up unease deep in Tweek’s bones. In close proximity in the car it’s worse, Tweek feeling himself being smothered. But, he knows his dad loves him, he did so much for him. It’s Tweek’s fault it was like this… His burden affected his whole family, and he knows this.

Tweek wants to disappear into his room as he shut the front door behind his father and himself. Mrs. Tweak has to tilt her head back against the couch to greet them with a lazy wave, Richard leaning and kissing his wife quickly then migrating to the kitchen. Tweek sticks his tongue out dramatically in disgust when his father was out of view, and Mrs.Tweak’s laugh almost gives them away.

“I’m having a few people over in a couple of days, you two should behave yourselves.” Mr. Tweak announces as he returns from the kitchen, his hand flat with a small white pill Tweek knows all too well on his palm.

Richard’s voice is sing-songy and fake again, attempting to tease them, but the reality is that he wasn’t joking. Tweek felt it. The hidden threatening tilt to his words, but it made Tweek smile all the same somehow. Is he afraid? Happy his dad is feigning happiness? He already knows this ritual with Dad, so he just tosses the pill into his mouth and throws his head back to desperately avoid any contact with his tongue. The pills always burned all the way down, poorly pressed together powders that fizzed in his throat. They’re terrible, but Tweek can’t say they don’t work since his hands don’t glow anymore and his skin is a normal temperature usually.

“Good boy, Tweek. You start feeling better, alright?” Richard says, stepping to sit on the couch. With a nod Tweek turns, dashing up the stairs only to stop cold at the top when he heard his dad’s voice again.

“Make sure you come back down for dinner.”

“Yes, Dad. Thanks.” He coughs back, the pill had hit the back of his throat kinda hard that time. 

Finally, Tweek is able to hide away in his room. The walls are covered in proof of his various conspiracies, the beige paint barely visible on some walls- but it still felt safe. His room is thrashed, half finished art projects littering his desk that pressed against the wall with the window. Watercolor, colored pencil, he likes trying new things but his favorite is music still. His keyboard is near his bed, on the wall adjacent, covered in loose papers and coffee cups. Ok, so he wasn’t making a lot of music recently, that’s fine! Tweek just needs his… inspiration back is all! Kicking discarded clothes out of his way, he makes it to his bed. With a flop, Tweek leans back against the unmade lime green sheets, finally able to unwind and check his phone. Oh, he hasn’t bothered with that all day, huh? Maybe this is why no one texts him, ever. Tweek’s heart flutters a moment when he sees actual notifications that weren’t just from other coffee shop employees or good ol’ Team Snapchat.

_5 New Messages From Craig  
3 Missed Calls From Craig  
2 Missed Calls From South Park Medical Center  
2 New Voicemails_

Jesus, ok the messages first then! The guy practically blew him up, but he did kinda run away out of nowhere. Fuck, Tweek is so embarrassing! He can’t even reconnect with a friend properly, he’s probably talking with Clyde about how stupid and ugly Tweek turned out. These messages are probably just paragraphs about how ugly he still is. Nah, Craig wouldn’t put time into that. Maybe just a quick bullet list of why he’s obnoxious?

Craig: Are you alright?  
Craig: Where did you go, dude?  
Craig: I’m sorry I grabbed you, that was pretty stupid of me.  
Craig: I know you’re weird about personal space or you used to be at least.  
Craig: Fuck, not weird, you know what I mean. Text me back.

His pulse quickens as he reads, Craig was worried about him. He supposes that was a pretty normal reaction to someone scampering away like a startled rat mid conversation, but not exactly a Craig Tucker reaction. Tweek continues poking around his phone at the other notifications, the calls are from Craig but the voice mails were from the doctors offices to remind him of some upcoming appointments. It seems like Tweek always has those fucking appointments, not like they ever helped with his ailment, as his mother likes to call it. A small pit of disappointment forms in his gut that it wasn’t ALL Craig, not that Tweek is super invested in him or anything! He’s just excited to see him again, they used to be such good friends… Craig is so different now. Tweek lets the hand clutching his phone crash into his chest, a little harder than he meant to. His eyes lock to the plaster above him, resting so the ceiling-titty-light was in his peripheral.

Craig’s eyes were so blue, they seemed bolder against his tan skin, perfectly framed by his long face. Broad shoulders held up high, dressed neatly and coordinated, Tweek thought he would explode when Craig got as close as he did. His wrist felt so small in his hand, he smelled like fresh laundry and spicy cologne. A hand runs into Tweek’s hair and pulls slightly as he remembers all his babbling, Craig just stared at him! He didn’t even say ‘hello’, he must have been so shocked by Tweek’s behavior- Oh fuck! What if Tweek was talking over him and didn’t notice?! Craig was always good at shutting him up though…The way his flat voice sent his heart into his throat, low and steady without a hint of emotion just like the rest of him. When Tweek knew him, he was so tight lipped and quiet but Tweek knew the truth then. That Craig’s brain was going a mile a minute, for better or for worse. Tweek worried about losing him in there, for Craig to get sucked into the vacuum of his thoughts. Is that where Craig had been? Is that why it’s like this? Ugh… he’s giving him too much credit, he’s just an asshole!

He was kind of hoping Craig hadn’t ended up so hot, if he’s being honest. Craig had always been attractive to Tweek, but now he’s on another level! Tweek is still just… Just Tweek! He had a growth spurt but Craig was around for that. Tweek’s haircut was the same as elementary school for fucks sake! All he did was pin it back when he worked now! Shoes still ratty, clothes mostly just stuff Dad didn’t wanna wear or his own clothes a size too large, chapped lips and reeking of coffee. If karma was ever on Tweek’s side this whole script would be flipped, Tweek would be making Craig lay on his back and think about how cool he got while writhing in his own self consciousness. This is probably payback for that time they fought in elementary school, or that other time Tweek elbow-dropped him in middle school- but that was for holding Tweek under the sheets while he dutch ovened him within an inch of passing out. Tweek doesn’t realise he is smiling until the burning in his cheeks became apparent through his thoughts.

Craig was the moon that hung over Tweek’s life, cold but giving light. The moon changes shape, but it’s still always there. Tweek sits up, his bones popping at the movement, and gives a glance outside. The snow isn’t falling as hard as he expected but the wind still tore threw the trees. Watching just makes the guilt bubble up in his gut, could he do this? Tweek swallows back his fear, the whole burning mouthful. Fuck it! Maybe not right this second, but Tweek is going to do it.

Tweek is going to live a normal life again.


	3. The Sun is Just a Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig struggles the movie

“Craig? Craig, are you still listening?”

Craig shakes his head, bringing himself back down into the room from his thoughts. A lime green accent wall sits in front of him in the otherwise white room. The furniture is minimalistic, the couch has no armrests and the tables have no edges. Ferns crowd the corners and a large window lights up the space, soft green curtains billowing in the warm air from the vent below. His back is pressed into an overly plush pillow bearing some quote about walking with Jesus on a beach. 

Before him is a blond haired woman, she’s thick as hell, well dressed and has a weird mole on her chin he can never stop staring at. A dark interruption to her fair, round features; the red lipstick she’s wearing doesn’t help from drawing his eyes too it. She’s leaning over slightly, sat on a white arm chair and focused in.

He’s in therapy again, once a week like always.

Craig shoves his pinkie finger in his ear not bothering to answer her yet, instead thinking about when his parents found this place. From what he remembered it was through his youth group? Craig attended a youth group for years, until 9th grade when he snuck off and did shrooms in the bushes. Good times, never been more connected with the big J-man. The room has small golden crosses hidden all over, some with a half naked dead Jesus hanging on them. Usually this place is calming, a place were Craig feels comfortable talking is few and far between. Talking to someone who’s patient with Craig’s long silences and habit forming nature is even rarer. 

He can’t hear her now over the sound of him digging around his ear canal, she’s weird. Craig had just recently been able to say her full name without laughing, ‘Fawn Dellmiballs’ or ‘Fawn’ as she insists he call her. For a few years Craig has theorized she was probably a stripper before this, or her parents fucking hate her. He finally takes his finger out, wiping whatever he dug out onto his jeans and humming to acknowledge her.

“Welcome back,” Her tone is teasing, she uncrosses her legs and untenses her face.

“how was your week? You never finished, you said you saw your friends?”

“Yeah, it was alright.” Craig muttered, leaning back against the couch enough that he’s sliding forward until the back of his head is pressed into the back of the couch and his bottom is almost completely off the seat. He feels Fawn inspect his movements, but Craig keeps his eyes on the weird naked Jesus on the wall behind her. Honestly, if she ever moves that thing he’s not sure where he’s gonna look.

“A bit out of your usual, isn’t it?”

“It was whatever, dude. We played video games, I uh, got pretty high and…” His voice catches on something, he’s not sure what.

Fawn reaches forward over the short glass coffee table between them, over the small succulent plant perched on top. She rests her hand on Craig’s knee, settling the shaking he didn’t notice ever starting. He turns his attention to the French manicured hand resting on his knee, feeling his stomach turn with disgust at himself that it comforts him.

Craig Tucker fucking hates being touched, Clyde tests that regularly. Always getting too excited and wrapping an arm over Craig, pulling him into his side only to have Craig slam his knee hard into Clyde’s crotch. Probably flipping him off while he’s at it. He’ll never admit it, cross his heart and hope to Stripe, he’ll never admit he comfort he finds in touch.

Fawn gives him a moment, she always does. A moment to close his eyes and focus through the fog of his thoughts, to use the warmth of her palm as an anchor. He sifts through his thoughts slowly, he knows what he wants to talk about but doesn’t know how to say it. His mouth feels dry, his tongue dumb and clumsy just thinking about trying to talk around his words. 

Craig would do anything to disappear right now, to have some random passing alien since his distress and beam him up. For the universe to reach one great big arm down and scoop him away, even if it meant being sucked up into space and maybe dying in its vacuum.

“I saw Tweek, for a second anyway.” His tongue fumbles over the name.

“It’s been a while since you saw him, what was it like?” Fawn is prodding for information, her voice is soft. Craig chokes back the thought of it being demeaning, but he’s not ready.

“He… was different.”

Fuck, it’s been days since it happen but Craig feels like he could take a step and be right there again. Standing blank faced at the bus stop watching Tweek bounding up to him, backlit and beautiful. Craig’s heart pounding like a jackhammer, his tongue swollen in his mouth while Tweek effortlessly babbled things Craig couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears. 

He feels his face recoil and his organs probably stop functioning for a second when the memory pushes forward. Tugging Tweek inside, his skin was already freezing in his hand and it just made Craig move quicker. Like the worlds biggest fucking clown, the dipshit of the year, Doctor Tucker discoverer or Idiot-Bitch-Brain-Disease in his own gray matter; looks down at Tweek, confused and being yanked around by someone he hasn’t seen in years and says:

“Hey.”

Wow, he’s going to use his college degree to travel back in time and kick his own ass. He’s going to invest his whole education in to a Craig Tucker Ass Kicking robot that follows him around and just smacks the shit out of him every time he talks. Maybe Tweek did change, the Tweek Craig knew would have snorted and smacked Craig for being so weird. He would’ve talked circles around him, he would punch Craig for losing contact with him for so long.

But this wasn’t the Tweek he knew.

“Different can be good, Craig. How was he different?” Fawn’s voice punctuates the memory, Craig’s stomach rises in his throat like the rollercoaster he’s been on finally plummeted.

“I don’t fucking know. He like, ran away from me.” Craig mumbles, shaking his knee free from her grasp. She’s being annoying now, asking for things Craig doesn’t want to give. God, her mole is ugly.

Yeah, because Craig really wants to talk about standing alone in the rain for a bus that takes like 2 hours longer to get him back to South Park. He would be sooo happy to talk about watching Tweek be swallowed up by the storm just to get away from Craig. To discuss the intricacies of why Craig punched a new hole in his wall. Stupid bitch.

Plus, Craig has a game plan. Ghost Tweek until Tweek has completely forgotten Craig Tucker is an idiot, then try again in like, a month? OK so he doesn’t have a full proof plan but there’s the start of one. One that’s probably better than whatever she wants him to do, anyway.

“Why was that?” Her arms rest folded on her knees, her face is scrunched again. Fixating on the guy before her, who’s basically staring daggers through her.

“Uh, cause he’s Tweek?”

Fawn’s eyes narrow a bit, her face looks like a crumpled up piece of paper. She wants him to explain why, to talk about why Craig called it ‘weird’, what it felt like to see Tweek running away. It’s a good attempt, Fawn typically can talk around Craig’s walls but not this time. She’s racking her brain for all the tactics she's learned to smooze her way into his subconscious, her face creasing with each passing second she stays like this. While in the moment, Craig could probably bring himself to smack her, she’s a shockingly kind lady. Especially since Craig has been dating dudes since like, elementary school and she’s a relentless bible thumper.

The amount of times he’s cried in this room, heaving sobs into Fawn’s shoulder makes Craig endlessly embarrassed. She spent time whittling away at his walls to lay out his problems slowly and patiently for him since before he could consider his problems something that mattered. Wading with him through the thoughts he kept dammed up inside, she never judged him. In middle school, he attempted to draw Fawn for her birthday. Much to Craig’s dismay, Fawn still has it framed up in her home. 

Fawn fucks. She’s so cool, dude.

Just maybe not right now.

“Ughh, he never used to run from me? I don’t really want to talk about him.” Craig finally throws her a bone, but only because he’s been coming here for so long and knows it’s easier to.

“Do you not want to talk about him, or just not to me? How did you feel seeing him run away?”

Craig rolls his eyes, checking his phone to see how much longer he has to be stuck in here. Longer than he’d like, he grinds his teeth when he slides his phone back into his pocket. She’s wearing an innocent smile of someone who isn’t picking at Craig, someone who’s just doing her job. He needs a new therapist, he thinks. He looks away from her to the wooden floor, his leg is bouncing again.

What is he supposed to say? Craig doesn’t even know why he’s feeling so hung up on this, it’s stupid. He saw Tweek and then he ran off, an incredibly Tweek move Craig should have seen coming from a fucking mile away. Why does he even care? Why did he even bother meeting up with him in the first place? It was like Tweek was haunting him, lingering in the back of his mind and seeing him just kicked it all to the front.

“Tweek seemed to have lacked independence before, but from what you shared he has his own struggles. He could have ran for a reason unrelated to your meeting. Your friends know him, don’t they? Have they mentioned Tweek or have you asked?”

What the fuck? Oh, she knows Tweek now? Miss fucking know it all, acting like she can lay out Tweeks inner workings for Craig. Does he go to therapy here too? Doubt it, his parents are like Bhuddist, right? Craig shoves his hands into his pockets, physically restraining himself against flipping her off.

“Yeah, they do. I didn’t think they would give a shit so I haven’t bothered. They never act like they give a shit so, ya know. Fuck ‘em.” Craig tells the floor. It’s dusty.

“Craig, you of all people should know what it’s like to secretly give a shit.”

—-

It’s foggy again, Craig can barely see the cars passing him on the street as he walks. He would rely on his hearing to help him navigate while he’s all but blind, but Wendy is talking his fucking ear off. He wasn’t sure why she’s going to Craig’s shitty public school, she’s always been freakishly smart. What was even weirder was how she insisted Craig walked her to the bus stop.

“So, she posted some super transphobic things on Facebook and I couldn’t just let her! But, I don’t know if I can keep this comment war up with her much longer.” Wendy’s sentences almost run into each other, but somehow are delivered like she’s giving a debate to an audience.

Craig looks at her for the first time since she flagged him down at the front doors. Her hair is too long, brushing against her hips as she walks and flails her hands around. Tricia told Craig they’re extensions, but he doesn’t really know what those are for anyway. Her face is as sharp and serious as her demeanor, Wendy’s cheek bones could probably cut a man. She didn’t get very tall, Craig could probably push her around by her forehead like he did with Tricia to make her angry. But, Craig values his life.

“I think they’re implementing a character limit on the comments- oh! This is your bus stop.” Wendy stops before Craig does, rocking back a bit on her black boots. 

He hums and sits down to wait for his bus, the seat is kinda wet from the moisture in the air. Watching for a moment while Wendy rocks on her heels, her purple smoker jacket swaying with her. Fawn told him to talk to someone, but who? Is Wendy his friend? She’s alright, kinda annoying and sensitive about offensive topics. Super bad at choosing her battles, she’s always all or nothing. She’s not the worst possible option, at least not yet.

Wendy searches for the bus in the fog, the little clouds her nose pushes out seems like it’s just feeding the giant one that was swallowing up town. What if he told her, how would that go? Probably a lecture, honestly. Long and drawn out, she might even make a PowerPoint to drive home just how correct she is. She would take the information he gave, disappear for a few hours and come back with a lengthy speech. Size 10 font, single spaced and managing to still be 48 pages carried in a manila folder labeled “Craig is a Bitch”.

Yeah, maybe not Wendy.

Craig didn’t notice he’s been staring at the yellow beanie pulled over Wendy’s black hair until she turned around. She smiles at him, her teeth are so straight it’s inhuman. It’s Wendy’s genuine smile, Craig knows that much. He always wondered how Wendy manages to fit so much scorn in a smile that it can cut most people to size. She’s intimidating without even trying, does it ever bug her that she’s like that? Also how do you politely tell a girl “You smile like a serial killer”?

“Hey, you have a shift with Stan tonight.” Wendy says, leaning into the frame of the bus stop.

Craig nods, sinking into his thick winter jacket. He forgot his hat, his ears are so fucking numb right now.

“What do you think of him, of Stan?” Wendy has asked this before, not usually to Craig though. 

The ‘conversations’ Craig and Wendy share are mostly Wendy talking, and Craig walking. The rituals of heterosexuals are intricate, and this is one of them. This is the one where Wendy pokes around and asks questions to people uninvolved to decide if she’s going to leave Stan for the 6th time. Gay as Craig is, he knows Wendy is way to hot to be with Stan, plus she’s smart as fuck. Extremely witty, independant, and could kick the ass of most the dudes Craig knows.

Stan isn’t the most well liked guy from what Craig can tell, not that he really ever pays much attention. He mostly gets off easy because he hangs out with Eric Cartman and looks like a Goddamn Angel in comparison. Craig has dealt with Stan for long enough to know he’s not a fan.

“He’s a prick.” Craig says flatly, he means it.

Wendy huffs some air through her nose, smiling again. He thinks that’s her laughing? Craig scans over the girl in front of him, she’s uncharacteristically wistful as she watches her shoes press into the cement. The silence is weird, not that Craig isn’t enjoying it but it’s weird. Abnormal, irregular, fucking weird.

“Why?” Craig prods, his voice a little more hostile than he intended but that’s a frequent problem.

Wendy takes too long to answer, his bus creaking to a stop. The wheels squealing over their conversation, thank fuck. He didn’t really care to hear the answer, if he’s being honest. Craig loads onto the bus without waving goodbye, he still has no idea why Wendy wants to walk with him to a bus stop she doesn’t even use. Wendy is weird, Craig decides when he sits down. Leaning his head against the window, he sees her standing alone at the bus stop in the dense fog. Smiling and waving a gloved hand at him, she’s weird, but she’s nice. Craig just doesn’t understand why.

Why was anyone kind to Craig in the first place?

Craig’s head bounces against the glass, it hurts more without his hat to cushion his skull. It shakes and rattles the thought of Wendy and her problems out of his brain, not that he really cared that much to start with. He has more important things to consider right now, like who should he approach like Fawn suggested. Not that Craig is taking her advice right now or anything.

He pokes around through his short list of contacts in his phone, crossing out a few names mentally as he scrolls. What about Jimmy? He probably wouldn’t take Craig’s problem very seriously, but even if he wouldn’t give a shit Craig could use some Jimmy right now. Someone light hearted to joke around with and get his head out of the clouds, Jimmy isn’t great with feelings but that’s fine. He taps out a quick message.

‘Hey.’  
Perfect.

The usual Domino’s pizza smell tidal waves over Craig the second he breaches the doors. Behind the grungy counter is Stan, clad in a blue apron with a stupid little name tag. He’s sitting on one of the short metal stools they have hidden back there, Craig assumes whatever he’s looking at under the counter is his phone. The chime of the doors alerts Stan to maybe look a little employed, but once he notices it’s Craig he flops back down into position.

“Hey, dude.” Stan says, nodding at Craig as a greeting.

Craig grunts as he passes him, lifting the hinged counter top to escape to the back room. He changes quickly into his uniform and apron, throwing his things in the locker the furthest from the kitchen. Typically it keeps most of the pizza smell of his things until he can wash them at home. Craig, now a man in uniform, moves to the prep station to find what he needs to do. He mostly just makes the pizzas, rolling dough, trying to decide how much ‘extra’ cheese he feels like putting on.

There’s not much else he CAN do here since he doesn’t drive, plus no idea is going to let Craig do anything but the occasional phone to answer. Not exactly Mr. Customer Service. Craig moves a few containers from the fridge, smiling and remembers when he got screamed at by Bebe about a year ago over taking her order ‘rudely’. He got an extremely long talking too by his manager about why you “can’t flip off the customers”. Worth it though.

Monday’s aren’t exactly busy, which means Stan keeps sliding into the prep area to talk to Craig. Tuning Stan out can be kind of difficult, he always throws stuff at Craig if he doesn’t glance his way every couple of minutes. It’s so fucking obnoxious, Craig has to bite his tongue hard to not launch across the kitchen and deck Stan when he feels a stray piece of pepperoni land on his shirt. He slams a tub of cheese against the counter, hoping he’s making it clear that he wants it to be Stan’s head. 

His stupid fucking head, his weird black hair that sticks to his forehead above his too big eyebrows. Stan’s eyes were downturned slightly, giving him a permanently pathetic puppy-dog face which his unkempt eyebrows only accentuated. Perfect for punching.  
He might be a little annoying to deal with that way too, though. Stan was sturdy, not broad at all but he was dense like a fucking collapsing star. Craig would know, he’s punched his stiff gut more than once and ended up with sore knuckles.

“Anyway,” Stan scoffs, rolling his eyes at Craig’s annoyed display. “Wendy is getting distant with me again, she didn’t even FaceTime me last night.”

Oh, how the rituals are intricate. Craig sprinkles some flour over his station, it stands out against the dark counter top. It’s his favorite part, it’s stupid, but he thinks it looks like little stars when it gets really fine and thin.

“She was the one who wanted to do the whole ‘Facetime before bed’ thing in the first place. She’s so- ugh.”

Craig started fantasizing about shoving raw dough and flour into Stan’s babbling maw, this guy never shuts the fuck up. Maybe that’s why Wendy constantly lives with one foot out the door when it comes to him, but that’s barely Craig’s fuckin’ business. Soon Stan’s voice is just background noise, he believes he caught something about Wendy looking at new schools or something. The pizza is in the oven, toppings and all by the time Craig gets the idea to call Clyde. He works at the Papa John’s near South Park, he WAS told by his therapist to talk to his friends. If Stan starts bitching he’ll say it’s a ‘mental health treatment his doctor insisted on’, or just tell him to fuck off.

Craig turns away from the oven to the phone, dusting the numbers with a light layer of flour as he dialed Papa John’s. Stan is still talking, shocking to no one. Only two rings before Clyde’s voice was on the line, sounding half asleep.

“Thank you for calling Papa Johns, this is Cly-”

“Papa Johns? More like Papa Bitch.” Craig interrupted, leaning over the pepperoni tub and eating a few loose pieces. He heard Stan gag in disgust at him.

“Oh, hi Craig.” Clyde’s voice perking up slightly, but only slightly.

“I bet Papa Johns isn’t even a papa, what is he? A step dad?”

He rested the phone between his shoulder and his cheek, nodding at a ticket that Stan placed one the line. Moving to reflour the counter, dodging the phone’s long, coiled cord.

“Don’t say that, dude! Papa John's is the coolest dude ever, I bet he fucks sluts like all day.”

“Step daddy Johns.” Craig stated, flatly.

“Whatever, man! Dominos more like I’m slamming all your hoes!” Clyde’s voice carrying genuine annoyance that made Craig smirk.

“My therapist told me to talk to my friends, how’s it working?” Craig asked, stopping the prep to change gloves and stifle a laugh.

“Terrible, you’re completely shit at this I have no idea what you called for. I hate you.”

“Well I can tell her I tried at least.” 

With that, Craig realized how horribly talking to Clyde about his ‘feelings’ would go anyway. He could see it now, Clyde gripping his heart and shaking with tears in his eyes as Craig attempted to explain, Reaching forward dramatically, grabbing Craig by the shoulders and shouting at him. Grieving a situation that literally has exactly 0% to do with Clyde, but wracks his heart all the same. Wailing about why Craig is being cold, blubbering about Craig’s emotional distance. Fucking idiot. Weepy little bitch boy.

Eyes from somewhere in the room drill holes into the back of Craig’s head as he hangs up on Clyde, he whips his head around to meet Stan’s gaze. Arms crossed, apron pristine because he hasn’t done shit but whine behind the counter since Craig got here.

“Dude, we’re gonna get busted if you keep fucking around on the phone!”

“What’re they gonna do? Be mad?” Craig scoffs, peeling the thin plastic gloves off.

“What if we get fired dude? We’ll be fired and it’ll be all your fuckin’ fault.” Stan’s voice rose toward the end of his sentence, really flexing his whole ‘I’m your shift lead’ thing.

“And if I had wheels I’d be a wagon.” 

The shift drags as it always does, but Craig is just happy he doesn’t have to drive them around. The time that Stan is gone on delivery is bittersweet, while he doesn’t have to listen to the town bitch boy he DOES have to run the counter. Luckily no one ever goes inside pizza places really, he only has to shoo out some homeless guy and give directions to some old lady who ended up offended with Craig’s tone. Stan returns for the final time for the night, helping Craig sweep and close up shop. His energy is noticeably lower when he comes back for the last time, dragging ass when he was balancing the register but Craig isn’t in the business of asking Stan about his problems.

They lock the doors, both double checking they have their cellphones before the final key turn. Craig looks over at Stan a final time, his eyes are large and watery. His eyebrows are pulled together and upward toward his hairline, the back of his hand is pressing against one eye while his lips pull into a strained line. Looks like a whole lot of not Craig’s business.

“Okay- bye.” Craig says so quickly it’s almost one word when he saw Stan begin to open his mouth to speak. His legs were moving in hurried steps towards the bus stop, his nose burning in the wind he was creating in the chilled night air. Not that he was minding very much, he could handle Colorado weather better than he can handle Stan’s straight people problems. The bus isn’t much warmer inside, causing Craig to have to hunker down into his jacket while he waited for his stop. The feeling in his fingers returned after a moment, deciding it was high time to check his phone.

_1 New Message from Jimmy_

_Jimmy: Hi Craig! How’s it hangin’?  
Craig: My therapist told me to talk to my friends.  
Jimmy: Aw, we’re friends now? :)  
Craig: I’ve been to your house for like, 4 ThanksGivings. I think you qualify.  
Jimmy: Ok, what’s going on then?_

Craig hesitates, his fingers frozen over the keyboard. God, there’s no point telling Jimmy. He can already hear Jimmy stammering out the roast of a lifetime over Craig experiencing a human emotion. Jimmy already prodded him constantly for acting like a robot, he made constant side comments even when Craig did normal shit like eating food. He has to admit it’s usually pretty funny and the entire reason he hangs with the guy. Not that his opinion of Craig matters that much but for some reason the idea of Jimmy giving too much shit to Tweek feels… wrong. Kinda makes him wanna punch Jimmy, actually.

Being this open is against his rituals, foreign and ill fitting. Craig’s being forced into a new skin, smothering him as he knows himself. His chest is tight and heavy, his teeth pulling tightly together while he types.

_Craig: Just a weird week, I guess._

Jimmy knows Craig too well, he keeps typing and stopping and typing again.

_Jimmy: I wont pry it out of you, mostly cause I want to keep all my teeth. B)_

Craig rolls his eyes, he’s never fought Jimmy he doesn’t think. He shifts uncomfortably in the bus seat, this wasn’t exactly what he was predicting. He expected more teasing but instead Jimmy is just dodging it, slipping on a pair of kid gloves and ducking him. There’s only one man for the job, and he’s at the next stop, thank God. 

The Black’s mansion comes into view and soon after Craig is yanking the cord to call for a stop. The familiar sight loosens his ribs, Craig can finally take a deep breath. The mansion used to be grand and intimidating to small Craig, now it’s kind of obnoxious. The door man doesn’t even wave at Craig before the gate is opened, they’ve had the same old guy for years running the thing. Tweek used to have a theory that he was a vampire or some other kind of immortal. The front door opens before Craig can knock, he always forgets that the Blacks have an alarm system that notifies their phone when the door is approached by anyone.

Token is on the other side of the threshold, his lips are pressed together in a thin line. He’s clearly annoyed Craig just stopped by without texting him, but that’s never really stopped Craig before. Token probably feeling like he was underdressed for company, even though his loungewear was more expensive and presentable than anything Craig could possibly wish to own.

Is that a Supreme sweatshirt? Dude.

“Dude, you reek like pizza.” Token laughs, his face relaxing a little. He has dimples and perfectly straight teeth, not hauntingly so like Wendy’s though.

“What kind of psychopath thinks pizza ‘reeks’?” Craig said too loudly, pushing past Token to make himself at home. Inside the mansion the temperature is shockingly warmer than outside, Craig’s nose thaws and runs a bit while he moved to Token’s room.

“Sorry I don’t work at a fucking caviar factory, your royal doucheyness.” He sniffs as he catches the look Token has been giving him, annoyed- but amused.

They take the party to Token’s room, Craig expecting it to be the same as when he was last there but all the mess was swept away. Likely by one of his prissy, rich-kid maids. Aw, dude the pots’ even gone! Weak. They move to the ugly chairs in front of Token’s TV that’s far too big for the room it’s in, dwarfing everything else.

“Ok, look I know I fuckin’ smell but my therapist told me to talk to my friends or something.” Craig mumbles, grabbing for the controller atop Token’s Game Sphere. There’s little stickers all over it, they look like bachelorette party dick stickers. Probably from Jimmy and Clyde, Craig had been wondering what they were doing the other day hunched over giggling like school girls over Token’s expensive things.

“Aww...We’re friends now? So sweet, Tucky.” Token mocks, his voice dropping on the nickname like he’s talking to a dog, purposefully knocking against Craig while he grabs a controller and flicks the system on.

“You hang out with Jimmy too much, dude. He said that like, SAME shit to me.” Craig huffs, kicking Token’s leg.

The conversation dies naturally, turning into muttered requests for stages and characters. Craig points out Juri is superior in BASICALLY every way to every other character, Token smirks and accuses Craig of having a foot fetish. Which, in turn, earns him Craig’s foot in his face pushing against his cheek hard while Craig attempts to still win while contorting his body to cheat.

Once they stop acting like they’re 7, Craig can feel token eyeing him while he goes through his usual, predictable moves in game. Craig shutters, feeling Token’s judgmental side eye over the clicks of the controller’s buttons and the cartoony sound effects. He focuses on what he knows, what he does every time. Some character, same combos, easy to remember and usually a cheap win for Craig, but the uneasiness doesn’t leave.

“So… what’s on your mind?” Token prods, he’s taking too much time to pick another character.

“Just a weird week is all.” Craig sighs, eyes fixed on the screen. It’s so big and bright it hurts, he can feel his corneas melting but it’s better than meeting Token’s gaze.

Token’s eyes however, are firm on Craig. He can feel them picking away at him, skinning his carefully constructed protective layers while Craig internally scrambles to keep calm on the surface. 

“What made it so weird? Don’t tell me you missed me that much when I was gone.” Token finally fucking chooses a guy. Why is he being so slow?!

“I dunno. I saw Tweek, that was kinda weird. I texted him once and there he is.”

Craig isn’t looking at Token but what he catches out of the side of his vision tells him Token just figured it all out. A smile cracked across his face, eyelids low and smug as he relaxes against the chair and finally looks to the tv. Wow, fancy schmancy rich kid college just makes you sooo fucking analynical, don’t it? Jackass.

Hands shake and cling to the plastic controller for dear life, fingers stumbling clumsily over the buttons more so than before. Craig swallows dryly, hardly hearing the game announcing Player 1 has taken the victory over the rushing blood in his ears. Token, clearly feeling none of this tension, moves right into the next round.

“Yeah, I mean, that’s pretty weird. But that’s Tweek, right?” Token says, obviously trying not to sound like a pompous dickhead. Oh, well too bad, you totally do, dude!

A hard huff leaves Craig’s nostrils, his teeth bite the inside of his cheek. Hearing Token mock a guy he hasn’t fucking bothered to contact in literal years, slapping labels on him that- while were still totally right- weren’t his to put on. He didn’t know Tweek, and even if he did he sure as fuck doesn’t know Tweek now. No one fucking does. Craig ignores the pooling sweat between his hand and the controller, keeping his face straight as he loses twice as fast as he did last time.

“Maybe it’s time you break some habits, Craig.” He hears Token put the controller on the floor followed by the shift of his clothes as he turns to face Craig fully.

Craig’s hand freezes at the thought, facing his greatest fucking nemisis. Change. It comes back, the tight hands pressing his ribcage in, his breaths pushing out shallow. Token is right, Craig knows this, but why does he have to phrase it like THAT? Craig’s eyes stay focused forward trying to keep a straight face and remain silent. Token bumps his shoulder, softer than before, Craig almost doesn’t feel it.

“It’s Tweek we’re talking about, you think he’s ready to see you after one text? We had to give him a months’ notice before we invited him to the park as kids so he could “mentally prepare”.” Token puts quotes into the air with his figures, his voice is light like the conversation isn’t cutting up Craig’s insides.

Craig finally turns to look at Token, his dark skin bouncing the blue lights off the screen. The plan was to stare at him cold and put him in his place, but Craig’s brain breaks character slightly to smile at token for a moment- but just a moment. Token smiles big, he’s better at smiling than Craig. Perfectly symmetrical, dimples and like he really means it. Because he does, Token wouldn’t give Craig anything half hearted.

“Thanks, dude.” It twists his guts to say, but Token earned that much.

—-

Craig had to cut the hangout short after, mostly because Token had fallen slack jawed that Craig thanked him for anything. Token might be a show offy dick but he’s right and it makes Craig’s chest cave with an invisible, smothering pressure. The walk home alone doesn’t help the crushing weight but the cold helps keep Craig on the ground. The burn of each breath, the tingle of his fingertips losing feeling, how bad he wants a cigarette even though he doesn’t smoke. Anything to make his hands busy, really.

Fingers fiddle with whatever they can find in his jacket pockets while he stupidly allows his brain to run ragged. What if Tweek never wanted to see him in the first place? Getting Tweek to do whatever Craig asked was usually pretty easy, the guy dissolves in any kind of social pressure. A simple text was probably enough to make him think the sky would fall if he didn’t agree to show up. It kinda did end up falling, to be fair.

“Wow, you're home late.” Tricia’s voice mocks as soon as the door opens to their home, she’s back on the couch almost like she never moved from the last time Craig came home late from Token’s.

“Wow, your growth spurts late.” Craig states dryly, flipping her off and getting a mirror image in return. The mundanity of the interaction would normally comfort Craig’s buzzing mind, but it doesn’t even nudge the heavy dread. His mom appears from the kitchen, seemingly watching to make sure Craig takes off his dirty sneakers at the door.

“Was Stan keeping you late again?” She moves through the living room asking, swatting Tricia’s legs off the couch as she does.

“Yeah, but what else is new. I got homework.” Craig lies, if there’s one thing Craig knows he can do without even trying is lie with a straight face. Mostly because he does everything with a straight face. His legs carry him up stairs before Mom can ask about his shift, mentally he knows he got flipped off for that but he has bigger problems right now. His room is spotless, well ok not spotless, but he got the clothes off the floor and his bed is made. His walls aren’t super decorated or anything, they’re kinda bare minus his few glow in the dark stickers. Stripe squeaks when the door closes, anyone who said the stickers were the best part about Craig’s room are deadass wrong, Stripe is right there!

“Hey, man.” Craig mostly tells the floor, his vision blurs slightly before he moves to the bed. Collapsing his weight against the sheets, he knows he already sent Tweek like a billion annoying messages out of panic when he saw him bolt. Is it possible to recover from that, even? Fuck, he should’ve asked Token THAT. The fog and buzzing floods his skull, he presses the heels of his hands against his closed eyes to try to push it away but it remains. He needs rituals before he can do this, the weight, the fog, he’s losing vision- he’s fucking dying. He’s fucking dying and his rodent is gonna scutter out of it’s cage to eat his dead body before anyone finds it. The fog is so thick he can barely see, the buzzing noise wont leave his fucking ears!

He starts small, adjusting his sheets until he can bounce a quarter off the taught blankets. Feeding Stripe, counting each pellet he drops into the ceramic bowl from his palm. The squeaky little thing knows he’s freaking out, chirping and leaning against his busy hand. Or maybe he’s just that hungry, either way it leads to the next part of running his fingers evenly over Stripe. Breathing in when he picks his hand up, and out when he draws it down his tiny body slowly. Hands trembling over the short coat of hair, gradually he feels his brain slow down. Heart rate regulating, Craig changes out of his now soaked through with nervous sweat clothes to his pajamas. Stopping only for a moment to refocus while he does, moving to fast just makes his vision blurry.

Comfortable, calm, he can at least pretend he has his shit together. It’s just a stupid te-

When did his phone go off?

_1 New Message: Tweek_

_Tweek: i didnt mean to run off. Liek i did mean to when i did it but you know._

The dots appear and disappear, starting and stopping for a few moments. Craig waits longer than he normally would wanting to give Tweek a chance and also to get back at him for not helping him when his tongue was caught before. It feels heavy and dry now, sitting like cement in his mouth.

_Tweek: i havnet really met up with anyoneto hang out in a while so i just   
Tweek: I dunno why i just had to go its a long story  
Tweek: its fine fi u dont care craig i didnt expect u to_

The sides of Craig's mouth flit upward for a moment, his heart is hammering in his chest but in a new way. Fluttery and excited, he moves back to his bed and lets it sink under his weight. 

_Craig: Tweek. I’m glad you’re ok.  
Craig: It’s fine, we’re both not great at being impulsive._

He means it, fuck he hopes Tweek can tell he means it. Staring at his phone watching the dots bounce around while Tweek types doesn’t burn like Token’s tv did. Waiting for Tweek unpredictable reply shakes him only slightly instead of wracking waves of fear through to his bones.

_Tweek: I kno i heust got excited   
Tweek: *Just  
Tweek: i wanr to see all u guys again its been like a million gear s so_

Ok that did it, a smile is plastered on Craig’s stupid face. Tweek wants to be around them all again, yeah, they’re all welcome. Stoned Craig got their friend back by shooting the stupidest text known to man, fuck yeah.

_Craig: We don’t have to rush to hanging out._

Tweek’s reply is like a warm blanket, or maybe his heart beating all excited has just finally pumped blood all over the place. He’s still smiling as he climbs into his bed, Craig knows because his cheeks never burn this much unless he smiles too much or ever really. They were gonna be fine, one step at a time, ritualistic and careful because that’s how Craig was going to make it. God fucking help anyone who gets his way now.

_Tweek: Thanks, dude. :) text me ok_

**Author's Note:**

> HHHHH thank u for reading uwu its so hard but fun to write these guys!!!!!! hope there's still creek stans out here with me ^w^ I'm hoping this one will be kinda long but I wanna write for BUnny as well


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